


The Law Of Surprise

by Ruusverd



Series: Echoes of the Fall AU [2]
Category: Echoes of the Fall - Adrian Tchaikovsky, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bronze Age AU, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, less than canon-typical description of violence, shapeshifter AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:20:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25710514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruusverd/pseuds/Ruusverd
Summary: Geralt goes to a party and no one has a good time.Rewrite of Pavetta's betrothal in a Bronze Age AU with shapeshifters. World borrowed from Adrian Tchaikovsky's Echoes of the Fall trilogy. Will make more sense if you read the series in order.
Relationships: Duny/Pavetta (The Witcher)
Series: Echoes of the Fall AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863010
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	The Law Of Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> I very nearly skipped writing this one because frankly I find the whole banquet/law of surprise story in every version of the Witcher painfully boring, but it’s such a pivotal point for the whole story I thought I might as well at least make an attempt. 
> 
> Worldbuilding notes: Everyone in Echoes of the Fall has a regular animal form, but some tribes (not all) have an occasional rare individual with a second, “Champion” form that’s some form of extinct megafauna related in some way to the person’s regular animal form. The extra form is not inherited; no one knows how or why they show up. The “soul” of the Champion form is much more powerful than the regular animal “soul,” and is sometimes difficult to keep control of. The Champion form of the lion is the smilodon. 
> 
> No elves in this world, so the Elder Blood doesn’t exist, just a family with a disproportionate number of Champions.
> 
> The Law of Surprise also doesn’t exist in EotF, but we’re pretending it does for simplicity’s sake. They love that kind of semi-mystical honor thing in this world, so it fits right in.

“I am under a curse,” the man who called himself Duny announced to the gathered Xin’trae Lions and their guests, “I have lost my Stepped form.”

Geralt's blood ran cold, and he fought to keep the food he’d eaten from coming back up. By the sound of it, several others had lost that battle. To lose one's humanity as Plotka had was a tragedy, but when Plotka died her soul would be released back to the Horse and she would be reborn. To lose one's _Stepped_ form was the deepest horror imaginable. It was to be a man with no soul at all, only a hollow that could never be filled.

Calanthe whirled to face Geralt. He noted she didn't look as surprised as the rest. "Kill him, White Wolf!"

Geralt stared at her incredulously, "I can’t, he’s under the laws of hospitality! He came in with the rest of the suitors, he was welcomed into the village, he's eaten your food. You're obligated to protect him, you can't harm him while he’s your guest."

She hissed at him, "I can't, but you can. That's why I brought you here to begin with. We hear all sorts of stories on the Plains about what your people do in the north to fill the Jaws of the Wolf, surely killing a monster isn’t beneath you."

"You couldn’t _let_ me kill him, let alone order me to,” Geralt insisted, ignoring the rest of what she’d said, “To break the laws of hospitality… it's a curse, Calanthe. The gods will curse you and your whole tribe through you if you do such a thing."

"Let them curse me!” Calanthe snarled, “No soulless monster will have my daughter!" Turning away from Geralt she gestured to her hunters and cried out "Kill that thing!" The Lions hesitated, but then reached for their spears, perhaps deciding that a hollow person didn’t merit the protection of hospitality.

Geralt sprinted across the space between them and knocked Duny to the ground just in time for the first spear to slice the air where the man had been standing. He Stepped to the wolf and stood braced over Duny, snarling defiance at the warriors surrounding him. His teeth and claws were the iron of his knife, and his hide was toughened by the impenetrable iron shirt that lay beneath it. He was an Iron Wolf, and even a Lion would be wise to respect the danger he represented.

With an angry shout Calanthe Stepped to the form of her Champion, the enormous cat that had not walked the earth since the dawn of time. Her long protruding fangs and vicious claws gleamed in the firelight with the bronze of her weapons. She crouched and prepared to spring on the wolf and the man he protected. Geralt watched her warily, knowing that a direct blow from one of her massive paws could easily shatter his ribs even if the claws couldn’t pierce his armor.

Calanthe's charge was halted by a piercing scream that quickly morphed into a ground shaking roar. Calanthe spun around and behind her Geralt saw another Champion where Pavetta had been standing a moment before. Geralt blinked in surprise. No one had told him Pavetta was a Champion as well. Looking around, he realized no one else had known, either. The girl was only fifteen so she'd likely only been able to Step for a few years, three or four at the most. It was possible even she hadn't known what lay within her until her anger drew it out.

Whether she’d known or not, her clumsy movements and poorly directed attacks as she lashed out at warriors and guests alike were proof enough that she’d never worn the Champion’s shape before. But her lack of practice would make her claws and teeth no less deadly if she managed to sink them into flesh. The guests and a fair number of the warriors panicked and fled in the face of the new Champion’s unbridled rage. Geralt and Duny were forgotten as Calanthe and the few remaining warriors tried to corner Pavetta and force her back to human shape.

Geralt crouched lower over Duny’s prone form, ears laid flat against his skull and his tail tucking in without his conscious direction. The ancient voices of the two Champions’ roars were causing something to stir deep inside him, something he’d felt only once and never wanted to feel again. He watched the battle, frozen, the faces of eight Wolf priests flashing before his eyes, human features twisted in horror as they were torn apart. _Eight Ghosts indeed,_ he thought, _Not my name, but it should be._

Only a handful of people remained within the village walls by the time a hunter named Eist managed to leap onto Pavetta’s back, looping his arms around her neck and dragging her back to the shape of a furious fifteen-year-old girl. Calanthe Stepped back as well, staring at Pavetta as if she wasn’t sure what to make of her. Geralt could see the calculations going on behind her eyes, weighing the benefit of having Pavetta at her side against the threat the other Champion would pose as her enemy. Weighing her pride against her daughter’s loyalty.

“Fine,” Calanthe said at last, tossing her spear down angrily, “Fine, I agree. Marry whatever monster you like, you utter fool. But you will never be able take my place as the ruler of the Xin’trae with that abomination at your side.”

“I never wanted to rule!” Pavetta shouted, angry tears running down her face as Eist slowly relaxed his hold on her neck, “I never wanted anything but to be _loved!_ Duny _loves_ me! Could he love me if he had no soul?”

Carefully Geralt backed away from his defensive stance over Duny, letting the man sit up and rub his head where it had bumped the ground. The wolf Stepped back to a man but remained crouched, watching the two women shout at each other until Pavetta jumped up and stormed over to sit by Duny’s side, taking his hand in hers and glaring at Calanthe defiantly.

“I owe you a life-debt,” the hollow man said to Geralt, loud enough for the few remaining warriors inside the wall of the village to hear.

Geralt fought to keep all expression off his face. He didn’t want a life-debt from this man. He’d saved Duny’s life because it was the right thing to do, but he didn’t like him. Something about him had made Geralt’s human skin crawl and the wolf inside him raise its hackles defensively from the first, and he didn’t think it was because the man was hollow. He had a strong feeling that Duny was lying about the curse, but he couldn’t imagine what could be so horrible about the man’s true form that he would claim to be hollow instead.

Whatever his feelings towards Duny, a life-debt wasn’t something that could be refused, not without giving offense nearly equal to Calanthe’s violation of hospitality. There was only one vow, one pledge made before the gods that carried equal weight. Only one thing he could ask for instead.

“I claim the Law of Surprise.”

~*~*~

“What are you going to do, Geralt? That child is yours now in the eyes of the gods! Where are you going to take it, you don’t have a tribe! How would you raise a Lion in a Wolf village anyway, even if you had one to return to?” Jaskier interrupted his own flow of words, struck by a sudden thought, “It might be twin souled, if Duny passes on his form in spite of the curse. Or do you think it’ll have a wolf’s soul instead of a lion, since it was pledged to you before the gods? Geralt! What if the child has _three_ souls? Is it possible to have three souls?”

Geralt sighed. He’d been doing a lot of sighing since they’d left the Xin’trae pride with the spears of Calanthe’s hunters at their backs and strict orders not to return until the child was six years old on pain of death. He hadn’t had time to process the night’s events for himself, and Jaskier seemed to be spiraling quickly towards hysteria. “I don’t know what form the child will have, Jaskier. It’s possible they’ll only have a lion’s soul, if Duny’s soul is truly lost to him. I can’t imagine they’d have a wolf’s soul. I’ve never heard of a child coming into any form besides those of their natural parents without a priest’s intervention, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Whatever form the child has, we’ll deal with it then.”

“What are you going to _do_ with a child, though?” Jaskier repeated, “How are you going to raise a baby without a tribe?”

Plotka snorted as if annoyed by Jaskier’s shrill tone, and Geralt patted her neck in sympathy, “I won’t have to manage an infant. A child of six shouldn’t be so difficult.”

Jaskier stared at him dubiously, “You’ve never been around children, have you? A child of six years is just as difficult to manage as an infant. More so, even, because they run around and get into trouble and jump off the edge of the Eyrie if you don’t watch them!”

“How many times did you try to jump off the edge?” Geralt couldn’t help grinning at the thought of a tiny Jaskier impatient for his wings.

“Many! Many times!” Jaskier spread his arms as if to encompass the vast expanse of his childhood idiocy, “It is a constant challenge keeping a child from unintentional suicide, Geralt!”

“Then I shall just have to be sure we stay well away from high cliffs.”

“You aren’t treating this seriously, Geralt White Wolf.” Jaskier glared from the painted side of his face, “You’re going to have a Lion child to raise, you have to consider what you’re going to do with it! You can’t raise a child without a tribe, and no tribe of the Wolf will take you in with a Lion infant in tow!”

“I don’t want to join another Wolf tribe. Besides, I already have you and Plotka following me around,” Geralt pointed out reasonably, “I don’t think a Lion child is going to make much of a difference at this point.”

“It will make a difference to the child!” Jaskier insisted, “How is it supposed to grow up, without a village to teach it and take care of it? It’s one thing to choose to leave your own people, but never having them at all…” the Crow huffed, and Geralt was sure if he’d had feathers at the moment they would have been ruffled.

“I don’t intend to take the child away from their parents,” Geralt assured him, “I’ll return and claim them in six years, but I’ve no objection to letting the child stay and learn what they need to. I have no responsibilities elsewhere; I can live on the Plains with the Xin’trae for a few years until they're old enough to leave.”

“Well _I’m_ not living with Lions for years, and I think Plotka agrees with me,” Jaskier declared, “And Calanthe may object to having you around long-term. I don’t think she likes you anymore.”

“She’ll just have to swallow her objections, or let me take the child away. There’s no other path, not without losing her honor.”

“She just tried to murder a guest who was under the laws of hospitality, Geralt!” Jaskier waved his arms, becoming agitated again, “That’s what got you into this mess to start with, so I’m not sure you should rely overmuch on her sense of honor! Calanthe only cares for having what she wants, and all other considerations be damned!”

Geralt grimaced, not able to argue with that point. Calanthe’s will was strong enough he suspected she would have led her pride even without being chosen by the Champion of the Lion. The hulking muscle and long dagger teeth of the Champion’s form certainly hadn’t hurt her ability to demand she have her own way at all times. He didn’t relish the thought of going up against her any more than he had already.

“And what if the child has a _Champion’s_ soul? The mother, grandmother _and_ great-grandmother were all Champions after all, and who knows how many generations before that!”

“That doesn’t mean the child will be one. A Champion’s soul can’t be inherited, it’s just a matter of being chosen or not.”

“I’m aware, but it seems obvious that Champions make a habit of choosing members of that family! At least three generations in a row! I think you ought to consider it! The Wolf has never had a Champion, not one, not ever! How would you even know how to teach it? Pavetta just had her whole village running in terror, and they’ve lived with Champions all their lives! What if it loses control and goes on a mad rampage and kills people?”

“Jaskier!” Geralt shouted, grabbing the Crow and shaking him roughly, “Stop talking!”

Jaskier’s mouth snapped closed with an audible click of teeth. He stared at Geralt with wide eyes.

Geralt sighed again, letting go and rubbing his hands over his face, “I apologize,” he said in a measured tone.

The Crow nodded acceptance of the apology, eyes still wide.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I don’t know what I’m going to do about it. I have no way of knowing. I don’t want to think about it yet. If you keep pestering me about it I will run you off, do you understand?”

The Crow nodded wordlessly again.

“Thank you.” Geralt dropped to his Stepped form and started running towards the north, letting the swift beat of his paws against the earth and the steady stream of wind against his face ground him in the present and wash away any thoughts of the future.


End file.
